


What Lies Within Secrets

by NovaHeart



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Androids, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Lies, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Mariella is only mentioned, Memories, Memory Loss, Mystery, Past Employee 432/Stanley, References to Easter Eggs and in-game secrets, Secrets, Technology, Temporary Character Death, Truth, enemies to friends to possibly lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaHeart/pseuds/NovaHeart
Summary: Underneath mounds of deceit lie the truths of the office building Stanley works in: truths about his company's Boss and the curator of the museum, truths about the voice in his head, and truths about himself. As he uncovers and unravels these secrets, he finds that he is altogether unprepared for what is hidden beneath the surface.
Relationships: Stanley & Stanley's Wife (The Stanley Parable), The Boss & Stanley (The Stanley Parable), The Curator | The Female Narrator & Stanley (The Stanley Parable), The Curator | The Female Narrator & The Boss (The Stanley Parable), The Curator | The Female Narrator & The Narrator (The Stanley Parable), The Curator | The Female Narrator/The Boss (The Stanley Parable), The Narrator & Stanley (The Stanley Parable), The Narrator/Stanley (The Stanley Parable)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> The Stanley Parable was created by Galactic Café. 
> 
> A huge thank you to 8meaningless8 for beta reading the story!

Stanley dodged a beam that crashed down from the ceiling.

The Narrator was too busy scolding him to care. "Ugh! It's ruined! You- I can't believe after everything we talked about you... my story... you've destroyed my work! Why?! For what!? What did you get out of that? What did you think was so special about seeing the game undone?"

Stanley inwardly groaned. At this point, he barely cared either. All he wanted was freedom from the Narrator. He thought that by going against every single order he gave him, the Narrator would give up. However, this plan had backfired. He was doubling down instead of letting it go. If only Stanley could be free of him...!

Stanley vaguely wondered if that was possible as the Narrator's voice became nothing more than noise in his mind, blocking out his words. A life with no Narrator? Oh, he could dream, couldn't he... no more voice telling him where to go or what to do, no more voice chastising him for doing what he wanted... it sounded more and more appealing to him as the Narrator's voice grew quieter in his head. True freedom was life without this, life without him.

It was like he opened his eyes from a long dream when he saw the computer screen in front of him, displaying its last command of the day. Stanley, without a second thought, pressed the button that he was directed to, and then, once the instruction showed up for him to turn off his computer, he did. He blinked, then slowly looked around. He was back in his office. The orders had come in. He heard his coworkers outside. But this... this couldn't be! Hadn't they all disappeared?

He stepped outside of his office, automatically closing the door and locking it. He said goodbye to his coworkers. He headed home, to his apartment, where his wife was waiting for him. She greeted him with a smile. They sat down for dinner, discussed their days and their plans for tomorrow, then cleaned up, watched TV together, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.

Just like it had been, before the Narrator.

Upon waking up the next morning, Stanley felt a buzz in his head. Something that made him jolt a bit. His wife asked him, "What's wrong?" when she saw him jump slightly. But he couldn't answer. He didn't know.

After breakfast, before he headed out for work, she gave him a quick peck on the lips. And then, for a moment, she turned into a mannequin before him. But as quickly as that vision came, it was gone. An echo of the Narrator's voice said to him, "Oh Stanley, who could ever love you?" Tears filled his eyes. No. This wouldn't... not again. He had to ground himself in reality. This was the real world. He left the apartment without another word, closing the door behind him, ignoring the worried call of his wife.

Another buzzing. The Narrator was trying to contact him. He knew it, that had to be it. But why was it feeling so... electrical? Why was it feeling like a zap rather than a wave, as thoughts and voices like his usually did? This didn't make any sense at all. He stepped onto the bus that stopped at the bus station.

A brief flash of the image of his office. He had to remind himself he wasn't there yet. He would arrive in due time, and his patience would reward him.

He stepped off the bus and headed into the office building. Entering the elevator caused a flashback to the elevator that led to the monitor room. A dream, he had to remind himself. It was all just a nasty daydream. Other employees filed in alongside him, and headed to their respective floors. He got off on the fourth.

His coworkers greeted him and he said hello to them as well. The empty desk numbered 432 remained unfilled, causing him unease. Why exactly did he feel that way? Thinking back on it, had anyone been there before? He couldn't remember, but the buzz came back to him with a vengeance as he unlocked and opened the door to his office.

He closed the door behind him and sat down to work, turning on his computer as instructed at 8:00 AM sharp.

The first order came in. "Press 'A' for 5 seconds."

He did as he was told.

The second order came in. "Press 'W' for 1 second."

He did as he was told.

The third order came in. "Press '1' for 2 seconds."

He did as he was told.

The fourth order came in. "Press '1' for 5 seconds.''

He did as he was told.

The fifth order came in. "Press '1' for 3 seconds."

Strange... three ones in a row. Stanley supposed stranger things had happened before. He pressed the 1 button on his keyboard for 3 seconds.

The sixth order came in. "Press '2' for 1 second."

Another number? He did as instructed.

The seventh order came in. "Press '8' for 4 seconds."

Ah, his favorite number. He pressed 8 for 4 seconds, his lips slightly curved into a small smile.

The eighth order came in. "Press '0' for 3 seconds."

The smile disappeared as he pressed a regular number for 3 seconds.

The ninth order came in. "Press '1' for 7 seconds."

He did so without a second thought.

The computer suddenly displayed a list of employees and what appeared to be instructions by their numbers, before it quickly scrolled down the list. Fear shot through Stanley- had he done something wrong? Is this something he's not supposed to see? What if he got fired for opening... whatever program this was? His hands quivered as he reached for the mouse. Maybe he could close out of this window, and pretend it never happened. He could just go back to work.

The monitor then displayed a black screen with white text covering it, "The end is never the end" plastered all over the dark canvas. He felt an electric shock, then blacked out.

When he opened his eyes again, he was still in his office, but the door was ajar, and his monitor was clear of orders. He was back here, wasn't he. Back in this waking nightmare. He would never be free. Frustrated, he decided to scream. No one would hear him anyway. Tears burned at his eyes. Why couldn't he get out of this? What cruel fate determined this for him? Did he do something in his conscious life that warranted this seemingly eternal damnation? Why, why was he back here? He wished he knew!

"Stanley?"

He lifted his head at the strange voice. This wasn't the Narrator. This was the voice of a woman. Had she replaced him? _Thank God_ , he thought. _Maybe she'll actually let me go._

"Stanley, I am the curator of the office's museum. I also work in repairs. I received a report that you short-circuited in your office. You can hear me, correct?"

He nodded.

"Good. I want you to know that you will be alright. However, I have made a discovery that there seems to be data in your memory card that is not yours. Would you like this data removed?"

He raised an eyebrow and asked what she was talking about.

"You entered some numbers into your computer this morning that were not part of your instructions. It unlocked a Data Sheet of the day you received these memories. Are you aware that you have employee 432's data in your memory card as well as your own, and this data has overwritten some of yours, causing you to live the life of both yourself and someone else?"

Was that it? Is that why he had been experiencing two lives, one of his imagination and one in reality? Had it not been his imagination at all? But then... why? That didn't explain how he was in this situation to begin with. How did he end up with employee 432's memories? He couldn't even remember just a few moments ago if there was an employee 432 or if that desk had always been empty! He asked her about it.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know. I can only help remove the data. But if I go back in your logs... it says here that many sections of your data were overwritten on October 17th, 2013. They're all relative to memories, except for... this particular one. Hm... well, this is interesting. One section is an overwrite of one of your emotions."

One of his emotions? He asked which one.

"Two of the six sub-categories of love."

His eyes widened. He let out a gasp, and the shocked question of what she meant.

"The day that the transfer occurred, your romantic and sexual love levels were set to 0, while the others- platonic, familial, unconditional, and self-love- remained untouched. What is strange here, to me, is that your attraction statuses for romantic love and sexual love were reported as "low" even after you had been given your wife. They only spiked a few months before this transfer occurred. Your happiness levels increased around the office as well, and returned to a normal range upon your arrival to your apartment. Do you have any recollection or idea as to why this is?"

The only conclusion he could draw from that was that he had developed a crush on someone in the office. But he couldn't remember feeling that way around anyone, and he was happy enough with his wife. Plus, what did this lady mean by "given"? Although, now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember dating his wife, or proposing to her, or even having a wedding...

He shook his head. This was getting confusing. He needed to find the truth of this whole situation. He needed to find out why his romantic and sexual love levels were set to 0. Of all the emotions... and employee 432, why were their memories part of him? Why did he agree to a transfer of data that bore these results?

However, she needed an answer. Would he erase these memories, and likely reset to before they were overwritten? Or would he hold on to them, and figure out why they were there? If he erased them, his life would go back to normal, he was sure of it. And he had been craving normalcy, especially as of late. But was he ready to put this mystery aside? Maybe he should, for his own sanity.

He felt a strange disturbance, and the lights in the office flickered. Before he was aware of what he was doing, he walked over to 432's desk, and pulled out the bottom of the pencil sharpener that sat, collecting dust, on it. Inside was a folded paper.

Unfolding the paper revealed that it was no ordinary paper- it was a photograph. Two men were smiling at the camera, arms around each other. They looked very happy.

Stanley didn't recognize one of them, who had brunette hair down to his shoulders, glasses, and a goatee. But the other one... he froze. How could he not recognize that man? It was none other than himself, with a smile that reached his shining brown eyes, expressing more joy than he had memories of feeling. There was no way this was real. It couldn't be. He would remember this, wouldn't he? But he recognized himself. It was Stanley, there was no denying it. Then who could possibly be the other...?

"Ah, that other man is employee 432," the curator spoke. "I am surprised such a picture exists... I would think it would have been erased with the other memories."

Stanley asked if she knew him.

"I do, yes. I know all employees in this office."

There was no way now he could have his data reset to before he knew employee 432. Too many questions would be left unanswered. There was something going on here, and he had a gut feeling that discovering what this something was would change his life- although for better or for worse, he couldn't be sure.

He wanted things to return to normal- he blocked out the Narrator so it could!- but curiosity was getting the better of him. He had made up his mind.

"I suppose you want to keep his memories, then, until you solve this mystery?" The curator asked, her tone light-hearted. Stanley was sure she had a smile on her face, wherever she was.

He nodded his head, and pocketed the photograph.

She chuckled. "Then let's be on our way."


	2. Museum

The first thing she told Stanley to do was head to the museum.

He hadn't been to the office's museum before, and in fact was unaware such a thing existed. There were occasional buzzes in his mind as he travelled along following her instructions. The curator, while she noticed them, was unable to explain them.

Stanley had a feeling it was the Narrator's presence, almost like a parasite. But what if the Narrator was once not a part of him? Is it possible he was part of employee 432's mind, and was transferred over with his other data? Stanley must have really loved that man, to take on such a burden. On the other hand, maybe the Narrator had been a part of Stanley after all? And was trying to make as much sense of 432's memories as he was? It was true that Stanley couldn't remember the Narrator _not_ being a part of his conscious thought.

An idea occurred to him then, but it was so absurd that it couldn't possibly be true. Was the Narrator-

"You're going to turn left here, at this sign that says 'Escape'. It isn't actually an escape, and quite honestly I'm not sure why that sign is here," the curator said, jogging him out of his thoughts. He turned left and walked down the hall, feeling a small zap as he approached the end. He winced, sucking in breath through his teeth as he pressed forward.

He knew where this led- but wouldn't he die down there? He pondered this for a split second before continuing on anyway. After all, this was all in his head. He'd be okay.

"Yes," he heard the curator say. "You are going to jump down this hole here, and a platform will take you to me."

He headed down without a second thought, landing safely on a platform. However, he only felt the platform move and heard the crusher turn on before an electrical surge flowed through his body, causing him to fall unconscious, as he had before.

There was no telling how much time had passed before he woke up again, this time on a couch in a large, marble room. Although he was in a shaded area, he could tell sunlight was streaming in through windows of the upper level of the museum behind him, due to the room being quite well-lit despite lacking lightbulbs.

"Ah, you're awake."

The curator approached him with a clipboard and pen in hand, jotting down what Stanley assumed to be notes. He sat up slowly, and asked her where he was and what had happened to him.

"You short-circuited again. I cannot pinpoint the exact cause, although I have determined this isn't the doing of Upper Management." She frowned, flipping through the papers on her clipboard. "Thank God it isn't..." she added, her voice nothing more than a murmur. "But," she continued, speaking at a normal volume once more, "I do need some information from you." She finally looked up from her clipboard. Behind her cat-eye glasses, with a silver chain dangling from them, were a pair of cinnamon-brown eyes. Her hair, dark brown, was up in a perfectly round bun. Her business formal attire gave her an air of authority and sharpness, but something in her expression betrayed a softer, more gentle side of her. "Do you happen to have any idea at all of why you are experiencing these... shall we call them, 'crashes', of your system?"

Stanley wondered if he should tell her, then decided there was likely no harm in doing so. He told her that a voice in his head that called himself "the Narrator" was what he predicted to be the cause of these blackouts.

"A voice?" She repeated, curiosity laced in her tone. "Strange... when I was examining your brain activity, I picked up no voice other than yours and my own."

He explained that he had wished desperately for the Narrator to leave him be, and as a result, had successfully blocked out his voice.

The curator thought about this. "Hm... it is possible that you successfully managed to override your own code, and block out the voice in your head. However, with the current state of things, this does not quite add up. It does not make sense for the Narrator to have such control over you, especially since you have tried to shut him out." She frowned. "Unfortunately, I will need to check your logs again. I was not searching for this particular data previously, so I may have skipped over it." She wrote something down on her clipboard, then told Stanley, "While I am working, please feel free to explore the museum. I will be notified if you have another outage, so there is no need to worry. Let's meet back here in an hour- by then, I will be finished searching for and collecting the data that tells me about this 'Narrator' of yours."

He conveyed to her that he understood, and she was off on her way. As the clacking of heels echoed through the empty and silent rooms, getting quieter the more distant they became, Stanley decided to give the museum a once-over. He had never been here before, and something about this place felt so peaceful to him.

He didn't know what he was expecting exactly, but it certainly wasn't the lack of actual artifacts around the museum. When he thought of a "museum", he imagined old paintings and dinosaur bones and ancient texts. What he found here instead were all objects from the office building that he saw every day. Not only were there chairs and filing cabinets, but there were doors and computers and numbered buttons (which he recognized from the Mind Control Facility). There was even a room of replicas of Stanley's own office- two older versions and his current office- behind glass panels. One of the older versions had two computers. Stanley frowned. He wanted two computers. But he moved on from this area to see rooms that contained clocks and plants, maps and scanners, and even a sandbox in one. There were no explanations for the sandbox, which had a lone, rusty bike in it, so he moved on. One room in particular had a replica of an elevator, paintings of a path outside of the office, and monitors that would occasionally turn on when a button appeared from within the desk they were attached to, then turn off when the button was retracted. He remembered these things from his journeys within 432's memories, although, especially the button and monitors, appeared to be older versions of a particular set of monitors and a button from the Mind Control Facility.

Stanley suddenly wondered how 432 knew about that place, and it hit him that the existence of those places in memories meant they were real. The Mind Control Facility was an actual place. He was actually under control. Nothing he had done here was of his own volition. His "normal" life, the desire to return to it... was that all part of someone's- the Boss's, he reminded himself- plan? Did he not actually want things to go back to normal after all? This entire time, had he been fighting against himself, unintentionally helping keep himself under control? Was the space within 432's memories the only freedom he had? And to think he was so eager to escape from it...!

No, he reminded himself. He was eager to escape from the Narrator. He didn't want that voice around anymore. Granted, he did want things to go back to normal, but he wouldn't have minded the adventures if he could do them solo, or at least with someone far less arrogant and condescending. He hadn't wanted to relinquish his freedom entirely.

His eyebrows furrowed. Employee 432 gave Stanley freedom he wouldn't have had otherwise, and Stanley could remember nothing about him. The only clue he had so far was the picture in his pocket... he took it out and unfolded it, trying to flatten out the creases. He studied 432. Tall, lean, fair skin, wearing a dark grey vest over a white dress shirt with black pants and shoes to match. His tie was silver and the lower half of his glasses had a dark blue rim. Nothing about him was ringing a bell. But perhaps that was due to the overwrite of Stanley's memories. 432 himself must have disappeared from the narrative...

Oh? Stanley noticed something about himself in the photo. He had been wearing a ring. It couldn't have been a wedding ring- it wasn't on the ring finger of his left hand. Rather, it hugged the ring finger of his right hand. A golden band, no noticeable gemstones on it. In fact, 432 was wearing the same ring, in the same place. But where was Stanley's? He dug through his pockets, but turned up nothing- not even from his shirt pocket. He couldn't remember having or leaving any ring at his apartment, so that was out of the question. The only place he could think of that he would have left it was his office. But how would he get back there from the museum? He blacked out before the curator took him inside.

Unless-

He heard footsteps approaching him. That would have to wait until later. The curator sighed. "There you are, Stanley. I finished early, so I decided to come find you." She then smiled. "How did you find the museum? Quite lovely, isn't it?"

He agreed with her, then asked about what she found.

She gripped her clipboard a little more tightly, then relaxed just as much. "I am going to need to go to the Mind Control Facility." Her words were terse. Stanley could've sworn he picked up the slightest bit of fear in her tone. "Upper Management has access to certain logs that I do not." She took a deep breath. "Needless to say, I found no data for a 'Narrator' in your card. I turned up odd lines of code here and there, which Upper Management should be able to answer my questions about as well. Unfortunately, that is as far as I've gotten."

Stanley asked her if she was okay, because she seemed nervous.

"Once this is all over, I will be able to rest easy. For now, please, do not concern yourself with me. You are more important right now." She paused, then said, "You will need to enter employee 432's memories again. Are you able to do that on command?"

He tried to, by closing his eyes, visualizing his office, and clearing all thoughts in order to let his mind wander, but to no avail. He shook his head. The Narrator had shocked him back into those memories, and he had no control over him. Well, besides shutting him out, of course. And it seemed that the shock had damaged his ability to re-enter the memories when he wanted to.

"That is rather unfortunate. I didn't want to have to resort to this, but I have no other choice. Brace yourself, Stanley."

Before he knew what was happening, the curator had pulled out a device from inside of her blazer, pointed it at Stanley, and tased him- and the world went dark.


	3. Questions

When Stanley came to, he was back in his office. He shuddered slightly from the aftershock, then grimaced when he realized he'd have to go all the way back to the museum from where he was. However, that was an expression that quickly faded once he remembered the ring. Finally, he was able to look for it! He began rummaging through his belongings in the office- on the desk, in filing cabinets, in drawers, even in the box that sat on top of one of the filing cabinets. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find it. He felt his pocket for the photo, which was still there, then wondered how it ended up following him from 432's memories into reality and back. Then again, stranger things have definitely happened to him.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

The curator's amused voice startled him out of his thoughts. He shook his head, but told her it didn't matter.

"I'm sure that it does. Is it something you specifically placed somewhere? Perhaps... without telling employee 432?"

That had to be it. It must've been because 432 had no memory of Stanley placing the ring somewhere that he couldn't find it in his office. Stanley sighed. He said that he didn't tell 432 about the ring.

She sounded intrigued as she asked, "The ring?"

Stanley told her about how, in the photograph he took from inside 432's pencil sharpener, he and 432 were wearing matching rings. He knew he didn't have or leave his ring in his apartment, so it had to be somewhere in his office. He had been looking for it since he regained consciousness.

"Ah, so that's what you had been doing. I grew concerned upon seeing you so frantically searching through your belongings." Dropping the subject, she then said, "I'm on my way to Upper Management now. Do what you would normally do within employee 432's memories."

Stanley bit back the question of who exactly Upper Management was, instead quietly following the path of the story. He felt a strange emptiness as he travelled through the office areas and corridors, through the left door of the two doors room and into the meeting room, past the Broom Closet and up the stairs to the Boss's office. He was so used to the Narrator telling him what to do next, but not even the buzzing was present this time around. Stanley vaguely wondered what happened to him as he punched the password into the keypad behind the Boss's desk, then scolded himself for thinking about him. There was no reason to think about the Narrator. What good did he ever do him? Sure, he tried to get Stanley to freedom, and just wanted him to be happy, but he reacted so terribly when he decided to make his own way! Didn't he know, couldn't he understand, that Stanley was perfectly capable of making decisions and keeping himself safe?

Although, now that he thought about it, every decision he made within 432's memories that went against the Narrator either led him to his death, or led him to needing to reset the memories so he was back to square one. The only exceptions were that Confusion Ending schedule and when he found a strange replica of his office in what seemed to be a deep basement level of the building.

And then... there was one particular memory. He was frozen at the two doors room, unable to move. Unable to think. All he could do was stand still as the Narrator begged, pleaded, for him to do something. To do anything. He no longer cared which door Stanley went through, he cared that Stanley was alive. "The story needs this," he had said. The story... the very same path that led him here. He was at the monitor room of the Mind Control Facility. Absentmindedly, he pushed the button with the light bulb on it, and the monitors blinked on in a wave of white light, all around the room. That memory of 432's... where had it come from? And why was the Narrator so _sad_ about Stanley being stuck in place, to the point where he was willing to cast aside his own desires and let him do as he pleased? It just wasn't making sense. The Narrator had always hated when Stanley went against his direction. _Maybe because you die without him,_ his conscience told him. _You need him just as much as he needs you._

No... that couldn't be. He never _needed_ the Narrator! The Narrator had been nothing but a nuisance ever since he first said "This is the story of a man named Stanley"!

He was lonely. That's what it was, it had to be. Stanley felt lonely without him and just wanted him around for company. He went up in the elevator to the central chamber of the facility. As though he enjoyed having the Narrator around- what a preposterous notion! Anyone else would suffice in the Narrator's place. Speaking of which, Stanley wondered where the curator had gone...

He entered the Facility Power room. The ultimate decision lay here- go free and live, or die in a nuclear explosion. Now that he knew he was in 432's memories, he also knew the Narrator had been bluffing about how much control he had over what Stanley saw and experienced. He didn't erase Stanley's coworkers; 432's data hadn't contained them. He didn't let Stanley sit in his office forever pushing buttons and dying alone, or let the office sink into the ground swallowing everyone inside, or let the office be burnt to a crisp; all of these were fabrications to make the Narrator sound more powerful and controlling than he was. Stanley snickered as he realized just how fitting the "all bark no bite" saying was for the Narrator. He pressed the OFF button on the Mind Control Machine, and watched as the wall behind the machine retracted, revealing the outside world.

It was sunny and the weather was beautiful. Birds flew overhead as he stepped down to the stone path that lay before him. There was a barn by the path, but not much else, and unfortunately, he couldn't explore the barn- his feet were fixed onto the path. He instead looked up to the blue sky. At this point, the Narrator would have told him, "And Stanley was happy." But Stanley wasn't happy. He felt more troubled than anything else. There were so many things going on, and he felt like he just didn't get it. Like he was being pulled along, rather than understanding and making conscious decisions about his situation. There was only so much mystery he could take! He felt like demanding answers, but he knew no one would be able to provide them, something that deeply frustrated him.

The biggest question, he figured as he started over back in his office, was why. Why did Stanley take on 432's memories? Why did 432 feel the need to transfer his memories at all? Why did Stanley and the Narrator's journey through 432's memories begin? Why was the Narrator around in the first place? These were what needed immediate answers. Everything else would be sure to follow.

"Stanley, can you still hear me? I have returned from Upper Management," the curator said, causing a wave of relief to rush through Stanley. Finally, he was no longer alone! He told her he could hear her. "Perfect," she commented, before going on, "I... we need to have a discussion." Stanley's heart picked up its pace. "I am going to pull you from employee 432's memories now."

He was about to tell her to wait, but there was no time. In a flash, he had been electrocuted unconscious.


	4. Answers

The sound of pages flipping caused Stanley to slowly emerge into the waking world, briefly in a state of peace before the anxiety kicked in. His eyes fluttered open, and with a start he sat up on the couch in the museum, immediately questioning the curator as to what she had discovered at Upper Management.

She, sitting in a chair across from him, sighed before saying, "They were unable to help."

Stanley asked her what she meant by that.

"I mean that they provided no concrete answers as to what those lines of code were, as they had never seen anything like it. One suggested it was an error in retrieving certain data, another said it may have been an overwrite error. So, on that front, we are just as lost as we were before. However, on a more positive note..." She flipped through the pages attached to the clipboard she held, and went on, "We have a name. Anthony W."

Stanley knew that name. At least, it sounded familiar to him. He told her so.

"That's good. I was hoping Anthony's name would stay in the data. But that isn't all. I also received the logs- Data Points sheets, as they are referred to by Upper Management- from the dates that Anthony had undergone a certain experiment, as part of a pilot program."

An experiment?, Stanley asked.

"To see what allowing employees the freedom to think for themselves would do. How they would interact with others, what productive actions they would take, if they had any profitable ideas, so on and so forth. Ultimately, as you may have already guessed, this experiment had failed. Anthony asked too many questions that didn't pertain to work and was deemed by one of his coworkers as," she cleared her throat and read from the next page on her clipboard, "'Absurd, commonplace, heretical, terrible at his job, unhelpful, incredibly insignificant, pedantic, and unorthodox'." She briefly took on a thoughtful expression before her gaze sharpened once more. "The issue here is that those who were in charge of the experiment did not consider the consequences of their actions. They gave an android who had initially been programmed to follow orders the ability to think for himself, and instead of making the correct assumption that he would want to acquire a sense of self and/or wonder what he was doing and why he was there in the building at all, they inferred he would seamlessly get along with other androids who did not share this ability of his and that he would immediately be beneficially productive. I cannot stress enough how not only irresponsible, but illogical, the entire team was."

She let out a deep breath. "The Data Points sheets contain data for certain employees. Anthony was one of them, up until Data Points For 1112801. In the previous Data Points log, he had been showing signs of non-compliance. With his experiment, that was to be expected. However, there is no further data on him. In fact, they did away with the Data Points sheets entirely after 1112801. I want you to take a look at this, Stanley." She unclipped the stack of papers from her clipboard, and handed him one of them. Once he took it, he saw that it appeared to have been crumpled at some point, and across the top, it read "DATA POINTS FOR 1112801". "What do you notice?" she inquired.

Stanley's eyes narrowed. He read the different points on it. Employee 002 had been demoted. Employee 003 had been promoted. Employee 004 had switched offices with employee 400. Employee 166 had had their memos doubled. But... there was nothing more. 432 wasn't on here. He asked if the printer may have gotten jammed, which would explain the creases and the halfway-filled-out log.

The curator shook her head. "If printers get jammed, employees are told to contact supervisors, who will then contact Maintenance, who will then fix the printer without ruining the paper."

He then asked if she crumpled the paper, to which her reply was a swift "No", leaving him to wonder what exactly she wanted him to notice. He told her he gave up and that he couldn't find anything super out of the ordinary, besides the fact that the paper was creased and 432's report wasn't on it.

She raised an eyebrow. "You aren't going to take a guess as to why the paper is creased, or why Anthony's data is not listed here?"

To be honest, vague thoughts that lined up with those questions had been popping up in his head, but he didn't want to make an outlandish remark and get scolded for it, so he never gave these ideas a voice. However, he decided he'd tell her what he thought- she gave him no reason to think she'd react very negatively, after all. Plus, she had asked for his input. He opened his mouth to speak.

No words came out.

He tried again. Nothing happened.

The curator watched him, both curious and concerned, but no matter what he did, he couldn't talk. His mouth formed the words, but there was no sound. Only the sound of a hum of electricity flowing-

Wait. The electricity he heard... the Narrator! The Narrator was preventing him from speaking! But why? What was so bad about sharing what he thought? He began to feel the frustration from before as the curator hurriedly tapped the glass on her watch. Why was he always doing this? Why was the Narrator so determined to keep him under control? He just wanted to be independent for once!

"Stanley, you can let it go."

The curator's words came out with a sense of urgency. He stopped trying to talk, instead watching her with wide eyes. She went on, scribbling something on a paper on her clipboard, "Your voice function was disabled, and I've received strings of binary code in response to a scan I performed on your data just now. Usually, the code is translated immediately into language people can understand, but this... this is unprecedented. I must have picked up malware from you that rendered the translation feature useless." She put her pen through the metal clip and tapped her watch's screen again. "The other programs are functioning just fine... I am going to run another scan on you. Please give me a few seconds..."

Stanley's leg bounced as he waited. He knew the Narrator was responsible for rendering him silent, but installing malware into the curator's watch so Stanley's data couldn't be translated? That was a bit extreme. He started feeling less like the Narrator was doing this for the sake of controlling him, and more like he was trying to... hide something...

"Hm. The code printed out as it normally would..." Her words snapped Stanley out of his thoughts. "I also manually ran the translation software again. It worked this time, which is quite interesting, because if malware was what kept it from being translated before, it would have not worked now."

Stanley's ears perked up at this. He asked what the message said.

She reached into the pocket of her button-up polo shirt and outstretched her fist to Stanley. He reached out his hand to her, letting her give him what she had. She dropped something small and round into his open palm. When she withdrew her hand, he saw that it was a ring.

"It said to give you this."


	5. Return

As he stared at the ring, the curator's words were in one ear and out the other. "Allow me to explain," she started. But he couldn't. He couldn't listen. Anthony's name was engraved on the inner circle.

"When Anthony, employee 432, reached the end of the experiment, his belongings were confiscated." Her words were waves in the sea of thoughts flowing through his mind. "I received the ring from his supervisor, who told me to keep it on my person until otherwise directed. I was not permitted to ask questions, and even when I did anyway, I was not given any answers."

The Narrator told her to give Stanley the ring. The Narrator knew about the ring. The Narrator did not want Stanley to speak up about the vague idea- now a clear one- he had about why that Data Points sheet was crumpled.

Stanley suddenly recalled the order he input into his computer before he had been shocked into Anthony's memories for the first time. 1112801. The same number as the one on the Data Points sheet.

He blacked out without warning.

Once he woke up in Anthony's memories, he fully expected the buzzing to start. The feeling of electricity travelling through him, the sound of its flow. Yet there was none. In fact, even as he stepped out of his office, he was accompanied only by silence. The curator wasn't speaking to him either. He was alone.

That is, until he heard a voice.

"All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo... oh, thank God, I'm able to talk again."

Stanley felt the strangest mixture of irritation and relief. The only conclusion he came to about it was that he was glad the Narrator- no, Anthony- would be able to answer his questions. Otherwise, he didn't quite have a real reason to be thrilled that Anthony was back. Not after he had lied to Stanley for so long and upturned his entire life.

"Stanley, I no longer have any excuses. I've run out of lies and bluffs and cover-ups. It's become apparent to me that I cannot possibly protect you any longer from the truth. Come along, pick any ending you'd like- there was never a story I created for you to follow."

This admission came to Stanley as a surprise. He asked him why he'd acted like there was a story.

"When I thought I had freed myself, it was the second happiest moment of my life. I felt hopeful and full of optimism for the future. Maybe life outside the office building was a possibility for me. Maybe... oh, nevermind. The point is, Stanley, I knew that was the memory in which you'd be happiest. You deserved more than the mere taste of freedom, but it was the most I could do.

"So then, when you deliberately went off-track, going in directions and making decisions I knew would hurt you, or wouldn't end so happily, I tried to deter you from it, and/or from doing it again. Even though you had been making decisions for yourself, which is all good and exciting and freeing in its own way, you were throwing yourself head-first into death! You were seeing places and experiencing events that didn't make you happy and where you weren't safe. Unfortunately, I went overboard in the way I went about protecting you. I fabricated having a set story you were to follow and reprimanded you for my own deceit and negligence. I went so far as to act as though I had every ounce of control in the situations we were in, save for the 'Confusion Ending', and... three other unnamed 'endings'. In reality, I have just about as much control as you do over all of this."

By the time he had finished answering the question, Stanley had reached the staircase that either led to the Boss's office, or led to him going insane and dying. He went up to the Boss's office, and asked Anthony why he didn't just tell him sooner about everything.

"I couldn't."

It was such an abrupt answer that he almost tripped on his way up. He repeated Anthony's words as a question, then added a 'what do you mean'.

"I had been sworn to secrecy. I am not the only one who wished to protect you, you know. Although really, at times I wanted to tell you. The words had been on the tip of my tongue, on countless occasions! Especially when we were together in the starry dome room... but I couldn't bypass that damned restriction."

Stanley entered the Boss's office. His next question was who put that restriction on him.

"Leslie."

Leslie? He didn't know anyone by that name.

"You know her as the museum curator. Did you know she also repairs androids who experience psychological and neurological malfunctions? She's quite good at her job."

He stopped short at the keypad, his hand freezing in place by the buttons. Anthony couldn't have possibly meant the curator that had looked after him, could he? The one who had just as little information as he did about the whole situation... or so he thought.

"I know what you're thinking, Stanley. Yes, Leslie is the same curator who looked after you, and in fact is the only person who works in the museum. But she has been nothing but helpful to me. Impersonating my supervisor, she sent a form to Upper Management requesting authorization to create a copy of my data. Once they agreed, she was the one who carried out the procedure of the data transfer. I owe the fact that I am here with you now to her."

It felt like too much information at once. He momentarily forgot the password to the facility.

"2-8-4-5."

He input the numbers, then entered the newly-opened passageway. Once he was in the elevator and pressed the button to go down, he asked why Anthony had that transfer occur in the first place. Why he chose Stanley, of all people.

"I-" he suddenly stopped. Stanley waited for him to continue, but the rest never came. Tentatively, Stanley called out to him, and he responded, "Yes, I'm still here. I apologize for that."

Deciding to ask a different question, Stanley brought up the Data Points for 1112801 sheet. Specifically, why Anthony had taken it.

"Taken it? Do I really seem like the type to steal an important document from Upper Management, Stanley? A move like that would've been far too risky," he said.

Stanley raised an eyebrow as he pressed the button to activate the monitors in the Mind Control Facility. If Anthony hadn't crumpled the paper, and if it hadn't been caused by a printer jam as Leslie said it couldn't be, then who was responsible? Leslie said it wasn't her, but that left no one but the facility worker in charge of the Data Points documents, and in that case, it had nothing to do with the situation at hand. He walked through the catwalk to the next platform, where he activated the cameras, causing images of all of the offices in the building to appear in a wave motion. Just like he had so many times before.

He asked if Anthony could tell him more about the ring.

"Oh, the ring... my most treasured possession. We weren't able to be openly and officially together, as the company had already given you a wife- who was an android created specifically to be a housewife, by the way- and they had told me I was not to get into a romantic and/or sexual relationship with anyone throughout the duration of my experiment. Plus, the divorce process was extremely lengthy, as you had to prove to the company why their decision was wrong in addition to them having to decide whether or not your reason for asking for the divorce was good enough, and your case had been rejected. So we decided, to Hell with it all, we'd pledge our love to each other anyway. We bought rings separately so the company wouldn't become suspicious, and promised that we'd love each other forever. It was the happiest moment of my entire life, although my conscience would have been just a tad more clear if your divorce had been approved."

It was hard for him to believe, as he turned the Mind Control Machine off, that he so dearly loved Anthony at some point. When Anthony had been no more than the Narrator, Stanley spent most of his time hoping to get away from him. Yet, with everything he was learning, his feelings had become very conflicted. On one hand, he was holding on to the feelings he experienced towards the Narrator, and on the other, he was starting to let them go. Anthony had to keep his identity as employee 432, including his name, a secret. He had been silenced into it. He made up the whole "story" thing to protect Stanley from harm. However, in the same vein and as he admitted himself, he had been deceitful. He had also been manipulative in how he went about "protecting" Stanley, nearly to the point of neglect for his mental well-being. He never wanted him to get hurt or die, but he also chided and poked fun at him rather than tell him what danger he was getting into. The staircase outside of the starry dome room had been the only exception to this, and Stanley realized, feeling his heart drop, that he had gone and jumped from the top of the staircase- multiple times, since he didn't die at first- anyway. Perhaps... no. He didn't deserve it. However, he definitely proved that he would do what he wanted regardless of what anyone told him.

It was a real mess, and Stanley didn't know what to make of it.

He stepped outside. The very first time he did this, he had been happy being free, until he was reset back to his office. Then he saw that 'ending', that memory, as taunting him with the idea of freedom, only to snatch it away from him before he truly began to know it. But now, he saw this memory with new eyes, with an understanding that he wasn't the only one to have been hopeful and optimistic and then had that taken from him in an instant, and there was nothing Anthony could do to change that. He decided to focus on the moment he was in, taking in the scenery and simply allowing himself to breathe in the air of the outside world. It truly was a beautiful day...

He returned to his office feeling no less emotionally turbulent than before, yet he was strangely optimistic. He would find the answers to his questions, and get to the root of it all. With a determined gait, he stepped out of his office once more.


	6. Secrets

Something was bugging Stanley as he jumped from the window by employee 434's desk. How was he the only one to think for himself besides Anthony? There had to be other employees in the same situation, no?

He landed safely, and Anthony wondered aloud, "Now should I go on my usual spiel, or should I spice it up a bit...? Hm. Don't really know how to make this any more interesting; don't feel like writing any new songs. Alright. The usual it is." He cleared his throat, then began, "At first, Stanley assumed he had broken the map, until he heard this narration and realized it was a part of the game's design all along. He then praised the game for its insightful and witty commentary into the nature of video game structure and its examination of structural narrative tropes."

Stanley stopped him before he went any further, and questioned why Anthony was talking about this like it was a video game.

"Well, at the time you had decided to treat my memories like a game, so I was simply playing along with your perception."

Stanley deadpanned him, but he either didn't notice or didn't care or a mixture of both. He was sure there was something more to it than that, but he wasn't sure exactly what that something was. And far be it from him to ask Anthony a vague question- he'd get a snarky remark in response to it, rather than just an answer. He needed a solidified idea first.

"So now that you're here," Anthony went on, "what do you think? Isn't this a fun and unique place to be? Why don't we take a minute just to drink it all in!" He paused briefly. "Okay I'm over it now. What do you think, are you sick of this gag yet?"

Huge text that read "ARE YOU SICK OF THIS GAG?" appeared above two options, a green YES and a red NO. Stanley had been through this before. If he pressed "YES", Anthony would question him as to why he stayed put there, tell him he could literally leave or reset at any time, and then sing a song about how unbearable Stanley was. If he pressed "NO", Anthony would try to make the other option sound far better than the one he chose, and then leave Stanley to be presumably regretting his decision.

Stanley grimaced. He had forgotten how much he disliked this memory, and assumed- wrongly- that it would be a nice change of pace.

He only had one question, and asked if Anthony really played an instrument.

"Look at you Stanley, you're getting sharp. No, I have no idea how to play any instrument. When I selected YES to this question back when they had been running the experiment on me, I was told that that was an appropriate response, and was rewarded with music. But I always wondered what selecting NO would have done..." he trailed off with a sigh. "They never brought me back here, unfortunately, so I never found out."

After Anthony gave Stanley his answer, he reset the memories to go back to his office, as he was unable to return otherwise. Anthony appeared to have found this quite amusing, as he teased, "What's wrong, Stanley? Did you feel unworthy of listening to my lovely singing voice? Or do you enjoy my company so much that you couldn't bear to be without me once I left you there?"

Stanley decided to ignore his arrogance as he exited his office and instead inquired about yet another piece of this puzzle he was missing- why his romantic and sexual love levels were set to 0 upon the data transfer.

"Were they?" The news sounded like it came as a surprise to Anthony. "That's odd. I didn't touch them. I wanted you to move on after I'd been terminated. If those levels were set to 0, it means they were turned off entirely. And as a 1/0 function, it's encrypted so no one outside of Upper Management can alter it. Now, while some employees have always had those levels set to 0, you weren't one of them. It's quite interesting that your ability to feel those romantic and sexual loves had been removed after the data transfer, rather than when you had been feeling them towards me during the experiment, because back then, it hadn't been allowed... please excuse me for a moment."

He took the door to the right as Anthony departed. There were so many thoughts running through his mind that he ended up needing to sit in the employee lounge to let them settle and to sort the new things he learned. Leslie had lied to him and kept secrets from him just as much as Anthony had. Was she in the same situation and hushed about the truth as well? He would have to ask. Anthony wasn't responsible for the changing of his romantic and sexual love to 0, it had been someone higher up in the hierarchy. Leslie had Anthony's ring, which, although she said she received it from his supervisor, Stanley didn't know if he could believe her anymore.

And then there was the issue with Anthony not answering Stanley as to why the data transfer occurred, or why he was the one to receive this data. He only got out one sound before he fell silent. Was this something he would have to figure out on his own? He pondered this. Maybe he did it out of love, considering he loved Anthony back then? So his memory could live on in Stanley, and they would be together forever? That made sense when he thought about it. But was there anything else? He found it strange that Anthony wouldn't just tell him that that was the case, if it were true...

"The lounge was sublime, a work of art. What was it about this room that called so deeply and so personally to Stanley? Its grace? Its subtle charm? No. Stanley knew... it was something deeper. Something... darker."

Anthony's words snapped Stanley out of his musing, and he decided to ask what that something deeper and darker was, because he had no idea what Anthony was going on about.

"Oh, nothing. It was simply where we spent the majority of our time together when I was alive."

His reply threw Stanley off. This room had been that important? That's far from "nothing"! He observed the employee lounge, then asked if the two of them had a favorite spot.

"Those two chairs by that window was our favorite place to be. We'd sit there and talk the entire time we were on break."

Stanley noticed what he was talking about. It was a more secluded spot, near the soda vending machine. It did look like a rather nice area, where two people could have conversations and the chance of getting interrupted was low...

He realized he was getting distracted. Stanley changed the subject, and decided to ask the question that had been bothering him earlier- if there really were no other employees that could think for themselves.

"No. The two of us were the only ones capable of doing such a thing."

Stanley questioned why he specifically was able to, since he wasn't part of any experiment.

"To be honest, Stanley, I really don't know. You could've been part of an experiment, you could simply be an older android model. Maybe you got infected with malware that freed you from the Mind Control machine somewhere down the line before I ever showed up. In any case, I cannot answer your question, and I do apologize for that, as it does seem rather important the more I myself think about it."

So Anthony didn't know either. Stanley was a bit disappointed, especially because he now had yet another question he'd have to conduct a more in-depth investigation to find the answer for. He poked around where he and Anthony had supposedly hung out the most, looking underneath cushions of the chairs and the chairs themselves as well as by the window, for any further objects that would prompt further discussion about his lost memories. When he found the edge of a paper sticking out of a torn seam of one of the chair cushions, between the cushion and the arm, he mentally prepared himself. The questioning was getting exhausting, but he couldn't give up. He was just getting started! Stanley gently pulled on the paper, trying not to tear it as he slid it out of the foam.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this. In fact, he wasn't sure what it had to do with him. The photo was of a man and Leslie, on what seemed to be their wedding day. Turning the picture around confirmed Stanley's suspicions, as on the back was written, "Stan & Leslie Wedding - August 8, 1988".

Wait... "Stan"? As in-

"If it makes you feel any more at ease, Stanley, I don't believe that's you," Anthony cut in, before he could get too ahead of himself. In addition, he quipped, "Leslie is far too elegant and refined for you. Not to mention intelligent. Although, you could easily say the same thing about me."

Stanley rolled his eyes. But if it wasn't him in this picture, then who? And why was it tucked away here? He wondered aloud why this picture was a part of Anthony's memories. However, there was no response, even after he repeated his question to make sure Anthony didn't simply not hear him. This silence made him narrow his eyes. He took a closer look at the man in the photograph. Upon further scrutiny, Anthony had been right- this man didn't look exactly like him. Plus, this picture had been taken before he was born. He recognized Leslie, of course- she had aged well- but as far as this man went, he couldn't be sure. He wore a tuxedo, no out-of-the-ordinary colors even on his tie. His hair was short and slicked back, he wore no other jewelry besides his cufflinks-

The cufflinks were what caught Stanley's attention. He recognized them. Gold dollar signs... he recalled a portrait in the Boss's office of a man straightening his tie. The Boss himself, one hand resting on a globe and the other making the adjustments, a golden dollar sign cufflink attached to his black blazer.

It was him. Leslie had married the Boss. This was a photo of their wedding day.

Stanley felt the worst electrical shock of his life, and he crumpled to the floor, convulsing. Anthony's voice called out to him, albeit glitching as well, and everything went pitch black.


	7. Revelations

"Stanley? Stanley, please, can you hear me? This is urgent, I _need_ you to respond..."

He still felt electricity coursing through his body, although to a much lesser degree now than it had been before. He was no longer convulsing, but he experienced spasms intermittently. His vision cleared to reveal the museum once more, and Leslie hovering over him, worry etched on her face. Leslie... she had a lot of explaining to do, a fact she seemed to recognize upon noticing the distrustful glance he gave her. She sighed and backed up from him a couple of steps, giving him space to collect himself as he adjusted again to reality. Vaguely, he wondered if there were an easier way to go back and forth between the two worlds, before he sat up and opened his mouth to speak. However, instead of his words, he heard someone else's voice.

"Leslie, why can't I say anything?"

It was Anthony, speaking through him. She, dodging the question, greeted him. "Hello, Anthony. It's good to see your data wasn't corrupted with the surge."

Stanley pointed out that she was dodging the question, and demanded to know the answer as to why Anthony was silenced, although he wasn't sure as to what that line of questioning was about.

As if on reflex, her hands shot up to cover her mouth, one over the other, dropping her clipboard in the process. She looked like she'd rather talk, like she was struggling to move her hands out of the way, but to no avail. He stood up quickly, and Anthony exclaimed, "She's been silenced too?! Just how deep does this go?", giving voice to the next questions Stanley had. However, Stanley was in pain. The "surge", as Leslie called it, took a lot out of him. He found himself falling back on the couch, feeling sparks below the surface of his skin and wincing as he made contact with the cushion.

Leslie slowly removed her hands from over her mouth, then picked up her fallen clipboard, trembling. She hugged it close to her chest, her knuckles whitening as her fingers clasped the edges. Very clearly, she was distressed. Stanley apologized to her for presumably causing this, but she quickly shook her head. She then unclipped a paper from her clipboard and handed it to him, her hands quivering. He received it, feeling a sharp tingling in his fingertips as he examined its contents. He wondered when these feelings would subside...

It was a screenshot of an Access Terminal, opened at computer 421. Someone had typed in the command to open the Executive email inbox, and then read the 93rd email. It was from Anthony, asking what the significance of the number 1112800 was. Stanley recognized this number from the Data Points sheets. However, this employee, 421, was someone on his floor. Upper Management worked in the higher floors. Why did 421 open this email? How did they get access to the Executive email inbox in the first place? He looked up to Leslie, hoping she'd at least be able to answer those questions.

She expressed a mixture of puzzlement and nervousness, but to his delight, spoke. "Go to 421."

He nodded, and stood up to leave, handing her back the paper. She refused it, saying, "Keep it," so he folded the printed screenshot and put it in his pocket, next to the picture of he and Anthony, and Anthony's ring. Leslie then started to walk away, and motioned for Stanley to follow her out.

"You know, Stanley, that screenshot doesn't look familiar to me at all," Anthony chimed in as Stanley stepped into an elevator, pushing the up button as instructed by Leslie. He waved goodbye to her as the door closed, and she gave him a smile and a nod as Anthony continued, "I do remember sending that email, but opening an access terminal, well, that doesn't ring any bells at all."

His eyebrows furrowed as he remembered having seen the access terminal open in Anthony's memories. Was he lying to him again? Stanley questioned him about it.

"Stanley, I told you I was done lying to you. If I really can't say something now it will be because I absolutely can't say said thing under any circumstances."

He asked if that applied to the question earlier about the data transfer, and, as he knew he should've expected, he received no response.

The elevator opened up at the room Stanley recognized was right by the Boss's office. He involuntarily swallowed, feeling his heartbeat slightly quicken. The Boss... the one he suspected was behind all this. The one who was in control of every employee in the building. If he knew that Stanley knew what he did and what he was doing, he would have him terminated in a heartbeat. Stanley was terrified of that threat, but he couldn't stay in this room forever.

He exited as quickly as possible, ignoring the fortunately fading vibrations from the aftershock of the surge. The Boss's secretary, sitting at her desk, only gave Stanley a passing glance as he rushed by to get back to his floor. After he got out of the Boss's area and down the stairs, he felt safe enough to slow his pace to a steady walk. From the Broom Closet, he heard shuffling and the moving of objects. He assumed Chris was in there again, reorganizing and making things difficult for the janitors. Stanley decided that the reason for that wasn't worth thinking too much about, and moved on into the meeting room, which, since it was a little past 1 PM on a Wednesday, was empty. He stopped to check a whiteboard with the floor's schedule, which now had an X in the box for Friday during the hours of 12 PM and 1 PM, where Stanley recalled there used to be a "What to do about 432 (don't tell 432 about the meeting)" event. A strange sadness pricked at his heart, but he shook it off. Now was not the time to be getting sentimental. Now was the time for answers. He could deal with feelings that were slowly building up again later. He entered the two doors room, then traversed through the corridors leading to the complex with 421's desk.

Once he got there, he noticed 421 was on their lunch break. They had their feet kicked up on their desk and were gnawing away at a sandwich. When they noticed Stanley, their eyes lit up. "Hello, Stanley," they greeted him through a mouthful of bread and turkey.

Stanley's nose started to scrunch up, but he caught himself before he was able to express his disgust. After all, he didn't want to rock the boat- especially since he needed information. He greeted them in return, then cut to the chase and asked if their job consisted of opening access terminals and reading executive emails.

They looked at him as though he were crazy. "What on Earth are you talking about? I don't have that kind of information. You're better off asking Upper Management about executive affairs."

421 took another bite of their sandwich as Stanley got the screenshot from his pocket, only feeling a small tingling in his fingers, and unfolded it. He turned it towards them and handed it to them, and their eyes widened. They swallowed, and then told him, "I don't recognize this at all... but yeah, this is from my computer. I do remember letting you use my computer at some point; did you do this?"

"What?" Anthony blurted. Stanley immediately searched for a sign that 421 had heard him, but gratefully found none. He let out a breath of relief, and then asked them who else used their computer. It couldn't be Stanley. He had no idea what this was about.

However, they finished off their sandwich and shook their head. "No one. I remember every person who's used this computer, and it's always been me except for the one time it was you. Here, I'll let you use it again if you need to," they said, removing their feet from their desk and moving over. "You seemed like you had important business to take care of before; if you have important business again I don't mind. Plus, I'm on break right now."

Stanley was so sure 421 had the answers he needed, and suffice it to say he was a little more than unnerved that he was wrong. But this outcome was completely unexpected. He couldn't possibly be the one to have opened the access terminal. He wasn't a member of Upper Management. What reason did he have to do such a thing? What did 421 mean by "important business"? _Ah yes, more questions,_ Stanley mused. _Exactly what I needed._

However, he figured, while they were offering, he should at least try to get to it. The worst- or possibly best- thing that would happen is that he wouldn't be able to get in. He decided to go for it, and after examining the screenshot they placed on the desk, restarted the computer. Stanley ignored their outcry of "What are you doing?!" and found himself, once the computer booted up, typing in a password when prompted.

USERNAME: ACCESS appeared in big letters across the top of the screen. 421 let out a surprised gasp, and Anthony, Stanley noticed, was silent. He himself was shocked. How did he know this password? Why did he know it? Why did he read that email? It couldn't be... he had already deduced he wasn't the Boss!

Carefully, he asked them if they knew who the Boss was.

"Uh... yeah? We all know. He came by an hour ago. You weren't there, since you had been taken in by the repairs lady after blacking out or whatever, but he comes by every Wednesday at 12 for inspection. His name is Stanford. I could've sworn you knew that- you have a really similar name, after all."

Stanley shook his head. He knew the Boss's name was Stan, but he thought that was it. He was grateful, extremely so, that that train of thought- that he was the Boss- had been stopped. That could've ended disastrously.

"Oh, by the way, the Boss asked for your inspection to be rescheduled. He seems to want to meet with you in-person? So... uh. You might wanna be on your way ASAP."

If one thing wasn't going to end in disaster, another was.

Stanley restarted the computer to allow 421 to use it again, and retrieved the screenshot, once more folding it to put it in his pocket. He couldn't avoid the Boss forever, even though he could try. At least now he had a reason to confront him about all of this. After thanking them for letting him use their computer, he headed back out towards Stanford's office, with one thing on his mind that unsettled him more than everything else.

Anthony had still not said a word.


	8. Truths

He made it to Stanford's section of floor 3 with no issues, besides that Anthony remained eerily quiet. Not that that was inherently a bad thing- Stanley wished for this kind of peace when he was adventuring throughout Anthony's memories- but now, with answers being locked away from him, it was becoming a hindrance. A part of him also wished for Anthony to speak again just so he could hear him and know he's there, for the sake of having company. However, even as he passed the secretary and explained why he was there and she let him into the office, there was nothing. No quips about Stanley not being ready to face his superior, no comments about how Stanley would be up against one of the biggest threats to his life. He stepped into Stanford's office feeling more alone than ever.

"Ah, Stanley. Please close the door behind you," the Boss directed him, and he did as he was told. He then gestured for Stanley to come in further, and pointed at the couch. "Have a seat."

There was so much Stanley had to hide, he thought as he sat down. So many things he had to cover up. He couldn't mess this up, or he'd be found out for sure. He had to act like a regular employee who had regular knowledge of the building and its operations. He asked, for "clarification", if Stanford wanted to see him to reschedule his inspection.

"I already have your inspection rescheduled, for tomorrow at 9 AM sharp. The email has been sent to you. No, the reason I am having you talk to me directly is because of the outage you experienced earlier this morning."

Of course he knew about that. Stanley told Stanford that he thought Leslie had already taken care of it, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, so you have met with her for your repairs," he commented, his voice betraying... relief? Stanley had to have been imagining it, for next, he gave him a knowing yet sinister smirk. He took a post-it note and a pen, and wrote something down on it before beckoning Stanley to him. His employee got up from the couch, and, once next to Stanford's desk, received the post-it note from him. It read, "Am I free to talk now?"

Stanley raised an eyebrow, and told him he'd always been free to talk.

However, the Boss shook his head. He had Stanley give him back the note, threw it away, and got a new post-it note, on which he wrote another message. This one said, "You must not remember. I need your express permission to answer any questions you may have."

A pit settled in Stanley's stomach. Through a suddenly dry throat, he once more faked a lack of knowledge, and told Stanford that it was incredulous to think he had any right to give permission for anything to his boss. He was his superior!

Stanford wasn't pleased with this response, and narrowed his eyes before slowly asking, "What are you playing at, boy?"

So he could talk. Stanley involuntarily took a step back before denying that he was playing at anything, and then demanded to know why he didn't just use his voice before.

"I couldn't."

The two word response that had caused Stanley to trip up the last step of the stairs earlier once again threw him for a loop- Anthony had said the same thing. The realization of what this meant hit him like a ton of bricks. His Boss had been, like Anthony and Leslie, silenced. Only this time, it was Stanley's doing. He had told Stanford to keep quiet, and Stanford had complied. But for what reason? Why did Stanley do such a thing? What horrible, awful secret had he felt the need to bury under layers of deception? And why was Stanford willing to comply? Did he even want to find out?

"You can't possibly have forgotten," Stanford interrupted his thoughts. "That wasn't a part of employee 432's memories." Before Stanley, alarmed, could have opposed that idea, he continued, "I know about the data transfer. Who do you think authorized it?"

Stanley quietly admitted he had believed it to be Upper Management.

Stanford shook his head. "No. 432's supervisor received the authorization request, and I approved it." The corners of his lips curled upwards into a grin. "You do have knowledge of the data transfer." The smile then fell, and was replaced by a glare. "So quit fooling around. Both of us want the same thing." He gestured to the post-it note Stanley had crumpled in his hand.

Stanley found that hard to believe, that he and Stanford had similar goals at all. He wanted answers. His Boss wanted... he drew a blank. What _did_ Stanford want, exactly? It couldn't possibly be an explanation for everything- at this point, he seemed to have one. Maybe he wanted to extract Anthony's data? So no one would find out about the Mind Control Facility? That was plausible enough...

"Ask him what it is he wants," Anthony murmured to Stanley, startling him. Once again, Anthony appeared to have only been heard by him, so he did his best to not cause a scene. He felt rather relieved that his partner had returned- now he wasn't alone anymore. However, he wasn't sure he could comply with what Anthony was telling him to do. It ran the biggest risk to his data, after all.

"Don't worry about me. You need this. These answers are what you've been searching so hard for, and I'd hate to be an obstacle in the way of you achieving your goal," he reassured him.

Stanley nearly opened his mouth to tell him he hadn't been an obstacle or in the way at all, but then thought better of it. Not only was Stanford still sitting at his desk, tapping his finger impatiently against the lacquered wood, but his emotions were still conflicted about Anthony. The more he thought about his role as the Narrator, the more he started to see that he'd never been in the way of him doing what he pleased within the memories, although he had quite a bit to say about him making his own way. However, a part of him still felt that Anthony somehow had been impeding his ability to accomplish what he wanted. Before this all started, that would have been a rational conclusion. Now, it seemed to be more of harbored feelings than anything else.

At some point, he would need to let it go. Or at least forgive Anthony.

Stanley opened up the crumpled post-it note from his hand. Was he really doing this? Of course... he had no other choice. He told Stanford he was permitted to fully answer his questions.

"Well, I'm glad you finally came around, Stanley," he stated, relaxing slightly and taking on a more pleasant expression. "What would you like to know first?"

First... he asked what it was that Stanford wanted. That was currently the most pressing question.

"What I want? You've grown soft on me, boy," he scolded. "But if you must know, I want you to give up employee 432's data. You're more than ready to succeed me upon my retirement and no longer have need to keep it." He glowered. "Plus, you have a perfectly kind and loving and _obedient_ wife at home. Your attachment to that man has become a burden."

"Stanley, what the Hell is he talking about?" Anthony interrogated him.

He couldn't answer. Stanford wanted him to take his spot as the boss? It made sense that he wanted to retire- he was old, after all; the wrinkles creasing his face, visible bags under his eyes, and silver roots of his hair betraying his age- but Stanley couldn't figure out why he wanted _him_ of all people to be the next Boss. Wouldn't a member of Upper Management, or even Leslie, be more qualified for such a position? He fired these questions off one by one to him.

"You were always meant to become CEO someday," he said once Stanley had finished. "You had drive! You had ambition! You let no one get in your way, yet you worked so well with your coworkers. Everyone in this office building who met you admired you." He paused. "I took you to the Mind Control Facility. I showed you the machine, because one day, it would've been yours. However, somehow, the emergency reset had been triggered. You were hit by that damned electromagnetic burst. You didn't make it out in time, and it screwed you up.

"The next time we saw you, you were running. You were screaming 'who am I?' and begging for someone to tell you that you were real. But before we could catch you, you headed downstairs from my office, and we had to enforce section 2B of the Employee Observation Protocol. After that... the strangest thing happened." His eyes narrowed. "You found your way out, and suddenly dropped dead."

Stanley's head was spinning. He had died? He was supposed to inherit the company? The Mind Control Facility... had it not been a part of Anthony's memories after all? It was far too much information to take in all at once.

But Stanford wasn't finished. "Miss Mariella, who now works in Upper Management, had called for help, but I had someone retrieve your body and explain the situation after help arrived. We could not lose you. You are far too important. Even with hundreds of employees at our disposal, none of them could replace you. I had Leslie and other repair workers make alterations to your body, and bring you back to life. Unfortunately, the job was half-assed, since Leslie was so distraught over your death, so we had to put you in a basic position performing the most basic of functions while we prepared data to be transferred to your system, to 'get you back to normal', so to speak. I'm sure you're aware of what that means."

He did. And he couldn't believe it. The data transfer, the experiment performed on Anthony... it had all been done so Stanley could someday take Stanford's place. Anthony had been used for his gain. He wouldn't accept this. He couldn't accept this! He would never want something like that!

Although, it went far beyond what he wanted, didn't it. It was never his choice to put Anthony through what he had experienced throughout the experiments.

"I know," Anthony said, sounding weary and defeated, but Stanley could tell he was putting in effort to reassure him. "This was never your fault, Stanley. You had no idea. It's just... quite a shock is all. To think you were meant to be in charge of this whole operation someday, that some of the memories I thought were mine happened to be yours. That I was nothing more than a tool. It... well. It hurts, to say the least."

Stanley understood. No one should've been used like Anthony had been. That brought up the question, though- why was he so important to the Boss that he was deemed irreplaceable? Why go to such lengths just for him? Wasn't he just like everyone else, only apparently more motivated?

He asked these questions.

"Well," Stanford started. "You were human, first and foremost."

That didn't make sense to Stanley.

"When the alterations were made, we replaced certain body parts- most notably the brain, but we had to patch up some other places- with biomechatronic components. In simpler terms, you have a prosthetic brain and some other prosthetic parts. The electromagnetic burst resulted in you being more injured than you realized. I blame your lack of awareness to such injuries on the adrenaline, but that is besides the point. The point here is that you are not an android like your coworkers. You never have been, and with any luck, you never will be. You are, rather, a cyborg."

That... that couldn't be true. Stanley looked human. He didn't look like a cyborg. Weren't cyborgs supposed to have external robotic parts? On the other hand, if his brain were visible, that would be cause for concern...

None of that quite explained why he was so important that he was turned into a cyborg rather than left for dead. And then why continue to keep him around, rather than simply let an android take his place? One of them could've easily been programmed to fill Stanford's shoes! Plus, androids didn't die. They'd be around for as long as they could function.

"I know what you're thinking, Stanley. 'Why couldn't you have programmed an android to take your place instead', correct?" Stanley nodded, and he smirked. "Well, I could have. But I didn't want to. An android running a business such as this... if that made it into public news, it'd be a scandal that would cause mass panic. The people would believe the machines were taking over. And we don't want that kind of fear around, do we?" His voice was completely devoid of concern, and rather, he sounded amused. As though he were playing a game and he was winning. However, his smile then fell, and he uttered with malice, "I would rather be known as a nepotist than a revolutionary."

Being a revolutionary sounded far better in Stanley's opinion, but it was something he wouldn't tell Stanford. Rather, he was confused as to why Stanford made such a statement, and made his confusion known.

He wasn't prepared for his Boss's answer, which came after a long pause, full of heavy thinking on Stanford's part before he finally spoke.

"Because you're my son."


	9. Release

Stanford gave Stanley a chance to sit down and let the information process. He was Stanford's son. The Boss of this company was his father. He was meant to manage this entire building someday. He had been fully human before he died due to the fallout of an electromagnetic burst, then he was repaired as a cyborg. Leslie had been in such a state of grief that she couldn't properly fix him. Leslie... if Stanford was Stanley's father, and Leslie had been married to him, did that make her Stanley's mother?

And then there was Anthony. Anthony, the man Stanley had presumably fallen in love with, who had to undergo many tests and experiments just so Employee 427 could get back on his feet. The man to whom he had pledged his love, and he couldn't even remember it. The man Stanford saw as nothing more than a machine to collect data, and now he wanted Stanley to part with him forever.

Stanley suddenly felt very tired. He needed a nap. Or a break. Or both. The amount of knowledge he was given all at once overwhelmed him, and he wanted nothing more than to just... stop.

He remembered a place where Anthony took him when he wanted both of them to stop moving and just exist, and he suddenly thought it to be the best idea that was ever conceived. But how would he get out of Stanford's office and go there...?

"You could ask to see Leslie," Anthony suggested, his voice nothing more than a murmur. He sounded crushed from the revelations, the pride and confidence drained from his tone. However, he was still trying to help Stanley, rather than abandon him- which meant more to him than he would ever know.

Hence, Stanley asked Stanford if he could see Leslie.

"What, are you going to ask if she's your mother?" he sneered. When Stanley demanded to see her again, he scoffed. "Fine. You need to go to her anyway to have employee 432's data removed. Be on your way, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

After his dismissal, Stanley nearly rushed out of his office, only slowing down as to not cause suspicion. He entered the room across from Stanford's office with the elevator, noting how closely connected he and Leslie still were, and pressed the button to open it. The doors slid open, and he stepped inside, then pressed the down arrow to descend to the museum.

Once the elevator doors closed and it began to move, Stanley reached into his pocket and felt the pictures and Anthony's ring. The screenshot, the photo of Stanford and Leslie's wedding... the picture of he and Anthony. Everything was falling apart and falling into place simultaneously, and he just couldn't figure out how to feel about the results his investigation yielded.

He heard humming along to the elevator music that was softly playing, and recognized it as Anthony's. Although he felt a certain warmth in his chest at the sound, he was also astounded. How was he able to hum at a time like this, with everything that happened?

"If you must know, Stanley, I quite like elevator music," Anthony told him, his words still lacking their usual bite. "They're lovely tunes, and I just can't help humming along. Although someone as uncultured as you couldn't possibly understand," he added, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Stanley could only muster a half-smile in response.

They got to the museum not a moment later, and the elevator doors slid open to reveal a pitch-black room. Absentmindedly, Stanley trekked forward until he saw light from a doorway straight ahead. Their entrance into the museum was a quiet one, full of unspoken thoughts and stewing emotions. Fortunately, once he found a chair, he was able to sit down, and let his mind wander...

He was back in his office. All of his coworkers were gone, and he knew exactly what it meant. He decided to go to the starry dome room- perhaps he had simply needed a place to meditate on it all. Anthony gave no commentary as Stanley traversed through the corridors and through office complexes, not even when he went the "wrong way", not even when he jumped from the cargo lift and landed safely on the catwalk, not even to tell him to go through the red door. He knew what he was doing, and the lack of instruction was a sign he interpreted as Anthony trusting him. A good sign.

The door opened immediately to the room without Stanley needing to walk around in circles in the hallways or Anthony trying to convince him to take a break from adventuring. He went inside, stepping up the stairs to the platform in the darkened room, and as lights encircled the floor, stars sparkled in the sky surrounding him. He was finally here. No Stanford, no Leslie, no adventuring or more memories, no more mysteries and secrets. It was just he and Anthony, and with Anthony being as silent as he was, it really felt like he was alone to focus on the way he felt about everything. He finally had the chance to process it all without interruption. He sat down cross-legged on the center of the platform as colored splotches of light rose from the bottom of the room.

As the moments turned into minutes turned into an unknown amount of time, instead of thinking of past events and making sense of what had transpired, Stanley found himself focusing on the constantly transforming sky. The soft balloons of light morphing into each other shifted hues and spiraling speckles of color rose from the ground, both illuminating the heavens and adding life to his surroundings. He became immersed in this surreal environment like never before, in an act of escapism. It was the way he dealt with stress and conflict in his life- he imagined himself away from it, and when he couldn't, he tried to run from it otherwise. Just like he realized he was doing now.

He heard something from what he assumed was far away due to how quiet it was, but he was aware that no one else was around except he and Anthony. It was the sound of shallow breathing accompanied by sniffling. Alerted, he tentatively called out for his partner.

"What is it, Stanley?" Anthony replied, his voice thick and wobbly. Stanley knew from that alone that he had been crying, which was further proven by the sounds he heard before suddenly becoming louder, as though he had moved closer to him.

He wasn't sure what to do, since he had only ever caught Anthony in such a state twice before. And even then, he hadn't been crying like this- he maintained his composure well. Stanley assumed that it was because they no longer had anything to hide between them that he felt more comfortable with being open emotionally with him as well. While he was glad this was the case, he was still unsettled by him being upset, and he asked him why he was crying.

"Well, Stanley, we've been through a lot together, and I found it to be a necessary reaction to recent events. Personally, I'm overwhelmed." He sniffled. "I don't know whether to feel relieved, or guilty, or disturbed, or angry, or just plain sad. I do also feel surprised that you are not crying as well. I mean, I would think that discovering that you're the cyborg son of your company's Boss, and that you experienced death first-hand, would shake you to your core. You have every reason to cry, and yet... you haven't."

It was true, Stanley knew. By all means, he should be in Anthony's position, letting tears roll down his cheeks in release of all the emotions he had experienced and was still experiencing. He should be having his catharsis. However, he simply couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself cry; he didn't have it in him to scream out his frustrations; and far be it from him to react violently. He fell back onto the platform, uncrossing his legs, and instead opted to lie down entirely. He folded his arms behind his head. This was all he could do- lie here and stare at the stars and lights. He knew that at some point he'd have to deal with the fact that he was a cyborg, with the fact that his father was his boss and the owner of the company, with the fact that Stanford wanted him to get rid of Anthony, with the fact that Anthony had been utilized so he could accede to his father's position. But how was he supposed to? He wished someone would tell him what to do and how to feel. Maybe then he wouldn't be at a loss like he was now.

An idea crossed his mind then- perhaps he still had questions, besides the ones for Leslie he already knew of, and that was what was holding him up. Maybe, just maybe, if he asked enough of them, he would touch upon the root of the problem, the blockage that prevented him from processing his emotions. Or it could be that he simply needed to ask the right ones.

First, he asked Anthony what parts of the memories were truly his, from the experiments.

Anthony appeared to be taken aback by this inquiry. "Which memories were mine? Why? I mean, I don't take issue with telling you, but I'm curious as to where this is coming from all of a sudden."

Had he not been paying attention? It was now Stanley's turn to be surprised; he had become accustomed to Anthony knowing his thoughts and responding to them accordingly. They shared a brain, after all. He relayed to his partner what he had been thinking in terms of his idea.

"Oh, I see," Anthony affirmed once Stanley finished. "Well, I can say for sure that this particular room, as well as the memory of the Confusion Ending Schedule, were both from my experiments. I told you earlier that the window options were part of my testing. Oh, and there was that morality test, with the Mind Control machine." He let out a laugh. "As though I would make the wrong decision- I'll have you know, I am a morally upstanding citizen! But that's besides the point, really-"

Stanley interrupted him. Besides the fact that "morally upstanding" wasn't how he'd describe Anthony at all, he had a more pressing question- there had been a "morality test", and he wanted to know what exactly that was.

"Yes, Stanley, there was a morality test. The machine was restarted and I was given the option to activate it or disable it. As I told you when I was explaining the fact that the story wasn't real, the day I freed myself was the second happiest day of my life. But, you know, it's strange. I clearly remember turning off the machine and going outside. Yet the moment I looked up into the sky, there was a flash of white light, and suddenly I was back in the Facility Power Room. It was almost like I had imagined it.

"After I 'returned' to the power room, which I at the time assumed was because I had made the wrong choice, I turned the machine on. However, a countdown timer started, and I was told the facility was set to explode, because I hadn't told my supervisor of my decision beforehand. They were supposed to be the one to carry out my choice, since their DNA would be recognized by the identification software. Fortunately, they contacted someone who was able to deactivate the machine's defense system, and the facility, as you very well know, did not explode.

"They weren't too happy with the fact that I put everyone's lives at stake, but they were pleased with my decision to turn the machine on. They thought I did that because I had actually wanted to, and told me my experiment was complete."

That all lined up with Stanley's experiences, except for one thing. Who stopped the timer when Anthony activated it? Why didn't they do the same for him when it went off before? It would have surely saved everyone the trouble. He sat up again, puzzled.

Anthony continued on with the recounting of the experiments performed on him. He was sounding much less upset than before, some of his confidence making a comeback. "They also kept me in this dull, musty, and quite drab room. You know it as the Serious Room. I had been put in what was essentially 'time-out' for being 'too creative'." He said the last part with a disapproving scoff, and went on, "I was supposed to be inventive, but not to the point where I was having better ideas than my floor managers and the higher-ups. Unfortunately, they looked down upon my superior intellect."

He paused, as though waiting for some kind of reaction, but when all he got from Stanley was an eye-roll, he proceeded, "I was taken through various simulations as well in my time being tested. A world of blocks, a facility where I had to solve a puzzle with a cube, underground parts of this office building... did you know they made me play a game where I had to push a button for 4 hours to save a baby from a fire? The baby wasn't even real! And the crying was god-awful to listen to. Not to mention, halfway through the four hours, they introduced a puppy that I had to save from piranhas- all cardboard cutouts, mind you- by pushing a different button for the remainder of the time, along with the button for the baby. Don't even get me started on the sounds those buttons made. It was a true nightmare."

Stanley's expression had been souring as Anthony described his "nightmare" of an experience in that memory. While that explained why he had so much fun watching Stanley struggle with that game, and why he chastised him for giving up, it didn't excuse the fact that he literally put him through the exact same thing he'd had to deal with and put in no effort to make things easier.

"But outside of that," Anthony said, ignoring Stanley's realization, "I was also the one who unplugged the phone. You know the one I'm talking about, in that room in the warehouse you take the cargo lift to get to."

Stanley's eyebrows shot up. _Anthony_ was responsible for that memory?!

Sounding more smug, he resumed, "My supervisor was absolutely horrified that I did such a thing. He started freaking out about it. 'Anthony, what have you done?!' he said. 'You've broken code! HR is going to have both of our heads for this!' Of course, they did no such thing. But... well..." he trailed off, and when he next spoke, his tone was sober and dark. "After going through what you did- the Choice video, things seemingly falling apart, the 'shutdown', stepping into my manager's office, not knowing the code for the door behind his desk- my memories end. That's when, I assume, I was deactivated. The data transfer must have happened immediately afterwards."

So that's why he sounded so... afraid, when Stanley had been frozen in place at the end of that memory. Why he had begged for him to respond somehow. He must have believed he had succumbed to the same fate.

"Did that help at all, Stanley? You feeling any less troubled now?" Anthony piped up after a few moments of silence.

To be honest, Stanley still felt very indifferent. A little more informed, sure; but overall, there were no noticeable changes to his emotional state. Maybe he had jumped straight into the acceptance phase of processing his feelings, or maybe no progress had been made at all.

He held his hands out in front of him and gazed at them. They reminded him that he was still physically in existence. They kept him grounded to reality. As he slowly clenched and unclenched his fists, he thought about how he was here, in this place, right now.

A minute passed.

Two minutes passed.

And suddenly, it clicked.

He was a cyborg. While these hands were likely fully human, other parts of him weren't. And in these human hands, blood flowed, the blood of his parents, half of Stanford's DNA and very likely half of Leslie's. Stanford, his boss, who wanted him to fill his shoes someday. Leslie, who he harbored resentment towards for hiding so much from him. His parents, who he had all but forgotten were his parents after his death.

He had died.

He experienced death not only within Anthony's memories and his own, but in the real world. He had no recollection of dying- only of what happened before and after- but that didn't change the fact that it had happened in the first place.

So this is what he had been waiting so desperately for. This is the ton of bricks he pleaded with himself to be hit by. He felt the burning sensation of tears at his eyes as his vision blurred. At least he would finally have his catharsis.

When he cried, it wasn't quiet tears. There were no little sniffles, no trying to calm himself down. He was finished with stoicism. No, when he cried, it was the kind of crying others would call ugly. It was heaving sobs and a runny nose and wailing and rivers of tears flowing down his cheeks. He tried to cover his face, and when that didn't work, he opted to hold himself. No one but Anthony was around to see him anyway, and he had already cried earlier. Plus, he knew he wouldn't try to stop him.

As Stanley made his anguish known to the gently floating lights and shining stars that encompassed the room, he felt the heaviness in his heart slowly begin to lift. It was fading away, released with every quake of his body and every sob he was wracked with, until he felt empty. Empty enough for the worst of his lamentation to subside, and all that remained were tears, tremors, and the snot streaming down his face.

He almost reached up with his sleeve to clean off the mucus and saline fluid, except there was a strange sensation under his nose. It felt soft and dry, and similar to a very thin cloth. In fact, it felt just like a tissue...

He blinked a few times. When his vision cleared, he was in the museum again, and Leslie was by his side.


	10. Diversion

There were no words spoken between them as Leslie carefully helped Stanley clean up from his crying. It wasn't necessary that she did this- he knew how to look after himself just fine- but he associated this action with the word "mother", and he wasn't about to stop her. After all, he had no clear memories of what having a mother was like. All he was left with after becoming a cyborg were the feelings he associated with the idea of one, and they were very positive. And though he thought he'd be much angrier with her, much more resentful and bitter, none of those feelings showed up when he returned to the museum. Whether they disappeared with his tears or upon actually seeing her, he wouldn't know, but he did know that all that was left in the wake of those emotions were shyness and slight embarrassment. He couldn't believe he was in this situation right now.

She threw away the last tissue and used hand sanitizer from a small bottle she pulled out from her shirt pocket to clean her hands. Stanley didn't blame her. It must have been quite a gross job, to clear his face from the fluids that covered it. He mumbled his thanks to her.

"Of course."

She sat down in a chair beside his, and suddenly he tensed up. What was he supposed to say to her? He had questions, right? What were they again? Something about the facility, the Mind Controls-

Ah, right. He remembered what he came here for. However, he prioritized one specific question, and asked that first.

Leslie smiled. "Yes, Stanley, I am your mother. And quite glad I can finally tell you, too."

He, slightly relieved that he had been right, wondered aloud why she hadn't been able to say anything before. She wasn't a cyborg, or an android. How were restrictions put on her?

"Oh, that. Well, we both- your father and I- had little chips installed in our brains," she disclosed to him. "Initially, it was to make sure we released no company secrets to the public, or to anyone outside of Upper Management, really. However, we both found that there was a, er... power to it. Thankfully, Stanford and I are not on the worst terms; otherwise we would have exploited the ability to shift and offset our power dynamic via the chip long ago. However, there was one time that using the chip against each other was necessary- when we didn't want you finding out what had happened to you."

While Stanley had a sneaking suspicion of what the answer to his next question was, he asked why anyway.

Unexpectedly, she replied, "You weren't ready for the information yet. You had lost your memories, and in order to fully understand your situation, you needed to get back as much knowledge of the company as possible first." She let out a sigh before adding, "Which is where Employee 432 came in."

The last statement caused him to recall Stanford saying that the reason he lost all of his memories must've been because Leslie was grieving over his death. He asked if this was true.

"Did he say that? Oh, that bastard..." she fumed, but collected herself and continued, her tone terse, "It was absolutely not because I was emotionally distressed that you lost your memories. It was because we had to replace your entire brain. Not only that, but when you were taken in, you had been dead for around fifteen minutes- which doesn't sound like a long time, but trust me, when it comes to brain death, it is- and then the authorities who came by to handle Mariella's call for help wanted to investigate the area, so we had to show them our licenses as medical professionals and show proof that your death was not a homicide or suicide. During that time, we conducted the exams to see if we could find any sign of life or any brain activity at all, but we didn't. They left after a couple of hours, and I to this day cannot fathom why they felt the need to stay around for so long.

"You see, by the time we were free to proceed with our planned operations, there was no bringing back your brain. It was impossible after the first few minutes of your death. Therefore, trying to recover your memories would have been futile." After a pause, she added, "Even if Stanford thinks otherwise."

Although it would have been nice to have his memories back, he understood why that couldn't happen. However, that didn't explain how, at certain times, he experienced a sense of familiarity. For example, just before, when he recalled the association of "mother" with warmth, security, and happiness. How was that possible?

"We made sure to give you as much emotional knowledge as we could," Leslie explained. "Recreating your brain was no easy task, and giving you as much data on feelings as possible was a priority for us. It set the foundation for the way you navigated other matters in the future, whether practical or not. Plus, it sped up your humanization by quite a lot, which greatly aided in you becoming yourself again. And having you back, as human as possible, was of the utmost importance."

With that, he was reminded of the electromagnetic burst, the event that put him in this situation to begin with. Anthony had disclosed to him that there was a morality test he had to take in the Facility Power Room with the Mind Control machine, and that pushing the ON button without alerting his supervisor caused the countdown timer to start, which would lead to an explosion. However, Stanford informed him that this "explosion" wasn't as much of an explosion as it was a wave of energy that effectively shut down and reset every android in the building and interfered with the electricity that flowed through the human body. Which, Stanley supposed, was why it was imperative for Upper Management to escape. Yet how come he didn't get out in time? What stopped him? Also, how was the reset triggered in the first place? Why did no one cut it off the way they did during Anthony's test?

After giving insight into the reason for these questions to Leslie, he asked them, one at a time.

She was quiet for a long time. There were no signs of forced silence this time; rather, she was pensive, focused, and seemed to be pondering her next words. In fact, she looked very much like Stanford did before he revealed that he was Stanley's father. He felt a pit start to form in his stomach.

Dust particles danced in the sunlight that filtered in from the windows. The white walls and display stands were suddenly too cold and unwelcoming. And then it occurred to Stanley, although not for the first time, that Leslie was alone here. She didn't even have someone around to clean up the place, or to help her preserve these "artifacts".

How did she end up here?

She stood up from her chair, the sudden movement alerting him. He watched as she began to pace, still in a state of deep consideration. In fact, the more time passed, the more troubled and anxious she began to look. It made him uneasy as well. He wanted to know what was going through her mind and why she wasn't responding to his questions.

He wasn't the only one who was growing concerned with her continued inner conflict, either. "What's going on with her?" Anthony asked him. It caused him to jump a little; he wasn't expecting to hear his voice again so soon. He shook his head to convey to him that he didn't know either. How could he? There wasn't a way for him to read her mind.

She abruptly stopped pacing, though her back was still turned to him, and uttered, "What brought you here?"

He blinked. Then he told her that it was to escape in 432's memories to let the information he received from Stanford sink in.

"No... that can't be it. You could've simply done that from your office."

He argued that, while that was true, he hadn't wanted to go back there, and Anthony had suggested going to see her anyway.

"Anthony...?" She trailed off, as though she had forgotten he existed. "Oh, right," she recalled, but then she turned around, arms crossed, and said, "Stanford let the two of you go, just like that, to see me? That doesn't sound like him at all."

Stanley tried to think back to what his father had said to him before he left the office to go to the museum. He had jeered about him asking Leslie if she was his mother, and then...

He had asked him to have her remove Anthony's data.

He almost didn't say it. A part of him feared that, by telling her, she'd follow Stanford's orders, no questions asked. However, Anthony mentioned that she impersonated his supervisor and filled out the application that asked for authorization for the data transfer. She also seemed to have a record of defying the authorities, putting her own values above theirs.

But that was it. What if her values led to Anthony being gone forever? As much as Stanley had hated him before and prayed for an opportunity like this, now that it was a real possibility, he couldn't bear the thought. He'd do anything to prevent that from happening.

He nodded slowly and assured her that indeed, Stanford had allowed that.

She raised an eyebrow. "Does he... not know you're here, by any chance?"

"Stanley, what are you doing?" Anthony whispered. "You need to let her know why we're here. She'll help us, I promise."

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know if he could trust her.

"At least present the situation as a hypothetical one," Anthony suggested.

Stanley, his hands quivering, tentatively asked if, in the scenario that Stanford wanted Anthony's data to be extracted, she would do so.

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what he's asking for? Hmph..." she huffed, then sat down in the chair next to Stanley's again. "It's funny, really. I disabled your romantic and sexual love functions to avoid this exact situation. He really can't be satisfied."

This wasn't going as he thought it would at all. She saw right through him. If only he were a better liar! And on top of that, to learn that she had been responsible to turn off those functions, it... actually, Stanley realized he didn't feel all that surprised. There were too many unexpected things he learned recently for this to faze him.

"Well, I suppose that only leaves one thing." She looked directly at Stanley, who in response tensed up, gripping the arms of his chair. He was ready to get up and run at a moment's notice. He could outrun her, he thought. No one else was around to catch him either. He knew where the elevator was. He'd be able to escape from her. But Stanford was another issue entirely. It was possible he wouldn't get away from him. What was he to do...?

"-data?"

He had forgotten to listen to her as he was planning his escape. Sheepishly, he requested that she repeat her question.

"I asked, 'would you like me to remove Anthony's data?'."

Giving her an odd look, he replied that no, he would not like Anthony's data to be removed.

She mirrored his expression. "Are you planning to run? I'm not going to take him away from you. It's not what you want, and what you want is more important than what Stanford wants."

Her reassurance caused him to relax a little. He loosened his hold on the chair's arms, and shifted so he was more comfortable.

"Don't get comfortable, Stanley," she told him, getting up from her chair. "I'm going to have a talk with him, and you're coming along."

Stanley quickly shook his head. There was no way he was going to see Stanford again. Especially not with Leslie. He felt that it'd give the impression that he "told on" him to her and needed her to step in. Which wasn't the case at all, although he did let her know that Stanford had blamed her for his loss of memory...

"I think we should go with her," Anthony piped up, jarring him out of his thoughts. "He can't do anything to us if she's there."

He did have a point. Leslie said she wouldn't let Stanford take Anthony away, and Stanley believed her. But why did he need to go along? Couldn't he stay where he was?

"Stanley, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's something very important with what she's doing. Or rather, with what she did. Did you catch it?"

Stanley raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what Anthony was talking about.

"Oh, of course, how could I have forgotten? My observational skills are far beyond yours." Before Stanley could react, Anthony continued, "You know, she completely diverted from your questions."

With that, Stanley got up and followed her to Stanford's office. If she wouldn't answer his questions- which was quite alarming in itself- then his father most certainly would.


	11. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW // Verbal abuse
> 
> There is a summary of this chapter in the end notes for those affected.

The elevator ride to Stanford's office was quiet, but the rising tension was palpable. Although Leslie showed no noticeable signs of discontentment, agitation was in her aura. They stepped out of the elevator once it arrived at his section of the third floor, and Stanley noticed that her footsteps sounded just a bit heavier than they were before.

The secretary merely glanced at him, as she had when he first entered and exited his father's office, but she did a double-take upon seeing Leslie. He supposed she wasn't a common sight around here. But how else did she go to Upper Management? As far as Stanley knew, not only was there one entrance to the Mind Control Facility, but there was also only one elevator in and out of the museum. Unless she went through the crusher room, but there was no way out of there. Or was there...?

"Excuse me, but the Boss is very busy right now," the secretary informed them. "You'll have to wait."

"Is he in a meeting?" Leslie questioned, her voice sharp.

She cowered a bit. Stanley felt a little bad for her. "No, but-"

Her stammering was interrupted by Leslie snapping, "Then we're going in."

Before she could advise them against it, the two of them were entering Stanford's office. Stanley mouthed 'sorry' to her as he followed Leslie inside. He really did sympathize with his father's secretary; she didn't deserve such harsh treatment. She was simply doing her job.

"I agree, Stanley. That was incredibly rude," Anthony said.

As the doors slammed shut behind him, Stanford looked up from his desk, where Stanley noticed he was doing paperwork. He acknowledged his wife and son's presence with furrowed eyebrows at first, but then with a wolfish smile and a greeting of "Ah, my lovely, dear old wife has come to visit. And she's brought our son! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

At the word "old", Leslie had balled up her hands into fists, but she quickly unfurled her fingers. They approached Stanford's desk, and Stanley took a seat, having no desire to get involved. Leslie's voice was sickeningly sweet when she spoke. "You owe the pleasure to yourself, _darling_ ," she informed him, drawling out the endearment as though infusing the term with venom as it escaped her lips.

He was nonplussed by this. "Oh? Did you extract Employee 432's data?"

"I've come here to discuss that matter with you."

He leered at her, then gestured to the seats before him. "Then let us begin our discussion." She eyed the sofa and unoccupied chair warily before seating herself on the couch cushion closest to Stanley, steeling herself, and Stanford continued, "What is keeping you from performing this procedure, honey?"

If looks could kill, Stanford would be a dead man. "He isn't ready for it yet," she snarled through gritted teeth.

"He is more than ready," Stanford retorted. "I've authorized the data transfer because I was well aware of this. Employee 432 had received all of the knowledge Stanley once had of this building and demonstrated, via the morality test, that he developed the same values as our son. Also, per his Employee Peer Reviews, he developed the same mindset. Everything was perfectly in place. And it still is, except for some reason, I've received reports of 432's consciousness still lurking in Stanley's brain. Why is this?"

She argued, "The process of separating that kind of data is ridiculously difficult. It runs the risk of the information we've gathered from the exams being compromised. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

"Hmph. Touché, my dear," Stanford replied, crossing his arms. "Although, if it weren't for your, shall we say, incompetence, we wouldn't be in this situation."

Stanley watched with wide eyes to see how Leslie would react to this. He had never seen her so angry before, nor was he aware that her and Stanford's relationship was so sour. She had said they weren't on horrible terms, no? So why were they behaving in such a toxic manner towards each other? Why did he feel like he was watching a match between animals in a ring? Was this normal...?

"I'm not too sure if this is what they normally do," Anthony answered his silent question. "I've never seen them together, let alone heard a conversation between them. Quite frankly, if this is the usual, then I'm glad I'm not around to hear it. I wouldn't want to be part of something so vile. I'm sorry you are."

Stanley had to agree with that sentiment.

"Incompetent..." Leslie muttered, breaking the silence. "I'll tell you something about incompetence." She stood up, and stepped forward with every sentence. "Don't you think it's rather _incompetent_ of you to greenlight the procedure when there was testing yet to be done? Is it not _incompetent_ of you, as the Boss of a company of androids, to not inform yourself of the inner workings of your employees' minds, and of how data transfers work? Yet you have the nerve to call _me_ incompetent. Admit it, Stanford, you project your own insecurities onto others! That's what this is really about!"

There was another long pause. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Stanley waited, with bated breath, for his father's response. Not to mention, as he had just become aware of, he had subconsciously prepared himself to run again. Stanford gave him a quick glance, then spoke in a low voice to Leslie, "You're scaring Stanley, love."

"Ooh, that was a low blow, throwing you under the bus like that," Anthony commented.

Leslie looked to Stanley, who had swiftly shifted to appear more comfortable. He was not scared. He was simply preparing himself to escape if the situation escalated to that point. It would be quite childlike to be afraid when his parents argued, and he was no child. However, her glare softened, and he could only assume he looked more fearful than he thought. Then, he justified to himself that of course he'd be afraid, these were the two people who had the most power over him! Stanford and Leslie could destroy him and his life if they so chose. He had every reason to feel fear.

When she averted her eyes to Stanford once more, she seemed to have put two and two together. "You would dare use Stanley as a means of avoiding accountability for your own failures... you are nothing more than a coward," she hissed, although she did turn around and seat herself once more on the sofa.

"Failures..." Stanford mused with a triumphant grin. "Now that's something we should talk about with our child. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fails. They say failure leads to success... except when it doesn't. Would you care to explain, dear? You have quite the experience to share."

For a moment, Stanley could've sworn he saw Leslie's eyes widen. However, her tone was cold and harsh. "I have already explained to you that Stanley's memories were impossible to retrieve. Not understanding that is more of a failure on _your_ part."

He let out a laugh. "Now who's avoiding accountability for their actions? I assume you have yet to inform our son of your shortcomings."

What on Earth was he talking about? Stanley looked to Leslie for answers, but she appeared to have been backed into a corner. It didn't help that Stanford continued to press her on the topic. "Well, don't be a hypocrite. That wouldn't be a good lesson to teach Stanley. If I don't get to run away from the consequences of my actions, then neither do you."

She wouldn't budge, however. Her lips remained sealed. Stanley, tentatively, asked his father if it were really all that important that she disclose this information to him.

Upon hearing this, before Stanford could answer, Leslie cut in, "Fine. I will tell him of my failures on one condition."

Quite pleased with himself, he said, "Name it."

"You leave Stanley alone in regards to any and all matters concerning Employee 432."

He grimaced. "I don't understand the irrational attachment you both have to that android... but fine. If that is your wish, then I will no longer interfere with or complain about Employee 432. I will leave Stanley alone for any and all matters concerning him. You have my word." The wicked smile returned to his face. "Now, for your end of the deal."

"Right..." she sighed, in bitter defeat. "I was responsible for the electromagnetic burst that resulted in you becoming a cyborg, Stanley."

Anthony gasped, "What?"

Stanley froze, shock and disbelief rendering him incapable of doing any more than simply sitting there and listening.

"The day before Stanford showed you the Facility, I had asked you, if you had to choose between freedom and power, which would you choose? You ultimately decided upon freedom. You'd rather be free than powerful, and I knew then that I could not, in good conscience, guide you into a position where you would ultimately feel trapped. However, your father would never have approved of such a thing, and you were to make that choice in front of him the following day. I had to step in and do something about it.

"It was never my intention that you wouldn't make it out in time. When you had approached the Mind Control machine and hesitated to make your choice in front of Stanford, I triggered the emergency reset remotely. The members of Upper Management, including him, had all escaped, and I expected you to be with them. But you weren't. You were in the Control Room trying to stop the timer yourself.

"I was already outside of the building by the time I realized you weren't with us. And then, even as I attempted to input the code that shut down the timer, it wouldn't work. You were stuck and there was no way for me to have saved you.

"However... about your memories being gone forever, that was a bit of a lie. After the burst, you were out cold for some time, and I immediately had examinations performed on you to see your condition. During that time, I recorded and stored as many of your memories of this office building as possible. We all knew that you weren't going to come back from such an event. And when you woke up, our suspicions were confirmed. You managed to escape from us, we had to enforce section 2B of the Employee Observation Protocol, and you broke through that structural loop before dying.

"The reason I stay in the Museum now, alone, is because I admitted to what I had done. That it was my fault for all of this. Stanford sent me there once we had decided it was for the best I no longer get involved with Upper Management. I still do regret what I've done... I am deeply sorry, Stanley."

When she had concluded her monologue, Stanford merely looked bored, but Stanley was despondent. It wasn't necessarily her fault. He had been the one who wanted to be the hero and save everyone from the reset. But he definitely didn't expect her to be as involved with the situation as she was. No wonder she had strayed from the topic earlier and kept it a secret for all this time...

Sunlight streamed in through the windows. There was the sound of fingers tapping against a hard surface. Stanley had received answers to all of his questions. Leslie was far less tense now, and instead appeared just as dejected as he felt.

It was over.

"...Except for one thing."

Anthony's words brought to the forefront of his mind one matter, one insignificant matter, that had caused Stanford to want his data extracted. Stanley almost didn't bring it up. He no longer felt like it was important enough. Not in the face of everything else.

Although, on second thought, he supposed it would help to tie that loose end too.

He asked Leslie if he could privately discuss something with her, not letting her know what the topic was since he didn't want Stanford to have anything to do with it. She, curious, agreed to speak with him.

"We're going," she told her husband.

"Alright. Stanley, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

He had forgotten all about his inspection. After this, he was definitely not looking forward to it.

They left Stanford's office without a word, but before they parted ways- Stanley was due to return home, after all- he told Leslie what he had remembered.

"Oh, that? The love thing? You don't need to worry, Stanley. If you choose to have those functions enabled again, you can always let me know."

He took a moment to reflect on the relationship he had with Anthony and the ways in which that had developed. He searched through the very depths of his heart for hatred, or resentment, and couldn't find anything of the sort. It was more surprising to him that he wasn't surprised by this than that he didn't feel that way anymore. Though he no longer remembered his first relationship with Anthony, he was aware that the relationship between him and Anthony as the Narrator had been a farce. Every line of dialogue was a lie, a cover-up to a secret, and every action was shrouded in a heavy fog of deceit- though neither Anthony nor Stanley were to blame for this.

Now that they'd made their way out of that, now that the fog was clear, there was nothing for him to hold on to anymore. It was like they were meeting each other for the first time. A completely new, clean slate.

Stanley knew what he wanted to do. He informed Leslie of his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In this chapter, Leslie and Stanley confront Stanford. It is revealed that Leslie was responsible for setting off the countdown timer to the electromagnetic explosion that resulted in Stanley's death, information that she provides only after Stanford agrees to permanently leave employee 432's- Anthony's- data alone. At the end, Anthony reminds Stanley of the final loose end that needs tying- the love levels- and Stanley makes a choice about it, which he then lets Leslie know of. It is not revealed what this choice was.


	12. Vacation (Epilogue)

From his office on the top floor of the building, Stanley finished booking a flight for his vacation.

It was well-deserved, he thought. He'd been through way too much to not have some time off and away from this place. However, Anthony seemed to have other plans. "Stanley!" he called out to him, from seemingly far away. Although, of course, he was still a part of Stanley. He always would be, and honestly, Employee 427- now 002- didn't really mind it.

Yet it didn't stop him from feeling a growing sense of dread as his partner, sounding closer now, once more called out to him, "Stanley!"

Normally, if Anthony had something important to say, he'd do one of two things- make a big show of it, or just tell him upfront. He seemed to be doing the former this time around, and Stanley often wished he'd just get to the point all the time rather than sometimes.

Well, two could play at that game. Stanley wanted his vacation and he was going to get it. He would escape his floor before Anthony could stop him. He rushed to the door at the end of the corridor, just as he heard his name for a third time, but it slammed shut in his face. He'd been caught.

"Gotcha!" Anthony said triumphantly. "Stanley, I've had a great idea!"

Any time he had a "great idea", it usually wasn't so great for Stanley. He was transported to an empty room with a slideshow that read "My Idea" and had a picture on it. "I want to add new endings and new content, new adventures for you!"

So he decided now was the perfect time to try out the data expansion Leslie had implemented. Wonderful. Stanley yearned for his vacation as the slideshow flipped through slides, a little too quickly for him to keep up, and his partner commented, "Won't it be fun?"

He shook his head no. It would absolutely not be fun.

"Oh, shush, of course it will."

Stanley immediately felt himself falling, and when he saw where he was descending to, he almost cried. It was his old office. Fortunately, since he had been in his mind since Anthony had first called out to him, the fall did no harm to him physically. Emotionally, on the other hand, he was absolutely crestfallen. Couldn't he be free from this for long enough to enjoy a nice, relaxing vacation? He'd be back when he felt refreshed! Wouldn't it be nice to adventure when he felt revitalized enough to put the energy into it?

Money started pouring into the room from the ceiling at an alarming rate, and Stanley jiggled the door handle to open the door, except it was jammed, and since he no longer worked in this office, he no longer had the key. He muttered a swear word as the piles of dollar bills began to fill the office, and Anthony exclaimed, ignoring his dilemma, "We'll package it with the original game and put it on consoles, and everyone will buy it again because they're suckers!"

So he was still going on about this being a video game. It wasn't as though Stanley hadn't questioned Leslie about this, but since the possibilities she presented were that either his data had corrupted somewhere to make him believe he was in a video game, or that he was being dramatic and pretending, there was ultimately nothing that could be done about it. "Come come," Anthony declared, "daddy needs a third swimming pool."

Maybe he should just allow the sea of money to swallow him, he thought bitterly as heat rushed to his face. In fact, he didn't even realize Anthony had implied he had two swimming pools until after he forced himself back into reality. He was too focused on the fact Anthony had referred to himself as "daddy". Just who did he think he was...?

Back at his desk, he closed out of his browser windows, shut down his computer, and let out a sigh. Whatever imaginary world Anthony was living in, he wanted no part of it until _after_ he returned from his long awaited break. He communicated this to him, hoping he would understand.

"Ooh, we're going on vacation?" Anthony asked, seemingly forgetting all about his plans to test out the new places accessible to them. "Be careful, Stanley, or I might just start thinking you love me," he teased. However, his tone then became more serious. "You are right, we should take some time off... okay. That's what we'll do. Yes, it's perfect! We go on vacation, and come back to go on adventures when we're full of energy. I like the way you think, Stanley."

He was relieved. Of course Anthony would understand. Their minds were bound together, after all. He knew what Stanley was thinking from the beginning, and he always respected his wishes at the end of the day. Stanley picked up his luggage bag and exited his new office, locking the door behind him.

The top floor was much quieter than the fourth floor he'd once been on. In a way, he missed the commotion. There were no complexes on this floor- everyone had their own individual office- and there was a break room and a meeting room. Noise levels were typically quite reduced, and it made him feel strangely lonely. Plus, being in his new position was a new experience, and it still felt slightly scary to him because of that, even though he'd been there for a couple of weeks and had made friends with a couple of his new coworkers. It simply wasn't the same, and adjusting to the new environment was tough.

All of the other employees returned home for the night, on different schedules than employees on floors below them. He was the last one out. All of his coworkers were gone, he mused to himself as he passed through the hallway and entered the stairwell. What could it mean...?

"Are you stealing my lines now, Stanley?" Anthony questioned, jolting him out of his thoughts. "I thought we weren't doing this until after we got back. Unless you've changed your mind, in which case, well, I can't say I blame you. Our story is quite irresistible. Especially since I'm the one narrating it."

There was no way he was changing his mind. He needed this, Anthony needed this, the new adventures needed this.

In the light of the setting sun that illuminated the stairway in a yellow-orange hue, the rings Stanley wore on his ring fingers glinted. One with his name engraved in it, and one with Anthony's. He noticed their shine as he descended down the stairs to the elevator on the first floor, and couldn't help but to smile.

He would be happy to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in March 2019, I made a joke with my best friend about how the Narrator was Stanley's Stand (in reference to JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, one of our favorite anime series). Would you believe me if I told you that it indirectly led to the creation of this story?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read What Lies Within Secrets up until the end; it means a whole lot to me! I deeply appreciate it.
> 
> Take care of yourselves, and stay safe!
> 
> -NovaHeart
> 
> PS: If you have any questions/comments/feedback, please feel free to ask/share them!


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